


Truth Serum

by fennelseed



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Confessions, Dirty Talk, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, The Shire, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 13:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennelseed/pseuds/fennelseed
Summary: With the help of a truth serum, Frodo and Sam have a remarkably candid conversation one evening.(Another one from the early '00s.)





	Truth Serum

**Author's Note:**

> Smut. I mean it. This fic has approximately the literary value of those epistles beginning, "Dear Hustler: I never thought these stories were true..."

It was on one of Gandalf's sudden visits, a year or so after Mr. Bilbo had left, that the wizard brought Mr. Frodo a mysterious-looking wooden box. Sam was in the smial that day, helping Frodo with the rearranging of the wines and ales in the cellar, so he got to see what was in it right away. The two dusty hobbits stood brushing cobwebs off their sleeves, while Gandalf set the wide, shallow box down on the kitchen table and unlatched it.

"It's just some things I thought you could use, Frodo," he said. He lifted the lid, which was cunningly set on hidden hinges, and revealed what to Sam looked like a great treasure trove of magical potions. Sam caught his breath at the beauty of the things: glass bottles in green and blue and purple and amber, with cork-stoppers held down with metal clamps, and wands and spoons and pestles strapped to the box's inside walls.

Mr. Frodo only tilted his head, the way he always did when he was studying something. "What are they?" He trailed his fingers across the corks.

"Oh, medicines, draughts, this and that," said the wizard, who never did like giving straight answers, Sam had noticed.

Frodo picked out a purple bottle and held it up to swish the contents in the light. It looked syrupy; it moved slow. " 'Sleeping draught,' " Frodo read aloud off the label. Sam now saw they all had labels like that, handwritten in careful letters. " 'One tea-spoon at bedtime. Wears off six to eight hours.' Well, brandy does the same, but does this make your head hurt less in the morning?" Frodo grinned at Sam, who ducked his head and shuffled his feet, smiling.

"Much less," Gandalf assured. "And for your hay fever in spring, I recommend this." He laid a long finger on a yellow bottle. "Tastes foul, of course. Drink it with the strongest mint tea you can brew."

Frodo had put down the purple sleeping draught and was pulling up other bottles to read. "Any love potions in here?"

Gandalf sighed in an overwrought fashion. "No one makes such a thing, Frodo."

"Only joking. Ah! 'Wine headache antidote.' Perfect. Does it work?"

"They all work. I'd hardly have brought them to you if they didn't."

"Well, that's kind of you." Frodo picked up a new bottle, smaller and deep red. " 'Truth serum'?" he said. He looked at Gandalf with an incredulous laugh. "What would I need this for?"

Gandalf's eyes flashed to the window, then to Sam (who almost jumped, startled), and then back to Frodo before he answered. "One never knows when one might have enemies," he said, his voice low and gravelly.

Frodo laughed again, a snort of entertainment, and put the bottle down. "Really, my dear Gandalf, you are too much." He turned and flung his arms round the wizard's waist. "But I thank you for the gift, and for looking after me. No hobbit was ever so well taken care of." Frodo twisted, and reached back to squeeze Sam's shoulder. Sam's heart, in turn, twisted most happily.

* * *

"What was it in that red bottle again?" Sam asked him that night, when Gandalf had left and they were clearing a space on the kitchen shelves for the box.

"Truth serum," said Frodo. "If the label is to be believed. Haven't the faintest idea what I'd do with it."

"But--what's that mean? 'Serum'?"

"Oh. 'Serum' just means 'potion,' or 'substance,' or something, you know."

"Then a truth serum..."

"Causes the person who takes it to tell you the truth. Supposedly."

"You mean they can't lie after they've had that?"

"That's the idea. For two to four hours, anyhow." Frodo finished pushing the mugs to the side, and rested his arm on the shelf. He laughed. "I just thought of a use for it! I could give some to Aunt Lobelia and ask her what she really thinks of me. That would be high entertainment."

Sam smiled. "Think she ain't holding much back as it is, if you don't mind my saying so."

"You're quite right. Here--fetch that box up."

Together they fitted the box into its new space on the shelf, and that was the last they spoke of it.

* * *

But it was certainly not the last Sam thought of it. The possibilities struck him as he walked home alone that night, and knocked him breathless. If Mr. Frodo were to take a spoonful of that stuff, and then be asked the question _Do you love me?_...

Of course, Sam would need to drink a courage potion himself in order to ask that question. Besides, when the truth serum wore off, Frodo would definitely wonder why Sam had asked, and might even get angry at being forced to answer. Sam knew _he_ sure wouldn't want to be at the mercy of no truth serum if someone was asking what he'd like to do to Mr. Frodo.

And then Sam's thoughts spun off into another exciting direction. He pondered it as he lay in bed (getting more and more excited, and acting on it too if indeed the truth were to be told), and went on pondering it for the next several days. The things he could ask, and finally _know_! They didn't have to be as frightening as the question about love. They didn't have to concern how Frodo felt about Sam in particular. They could just be delicious secret things, stuff Sam wanted to know but couldn't ask under normal circumstances. Just imagine, if Frodo's tongue could be unlocked to ramble on about the way he liked to be touched, the things he thought about at night, the naughty things he'd done...oh, heavens, having that knowledge would do Sam a mighty favor indeed.

He'd still need an awful lot of courage to ask, though. And Frodo would still be suspicious and probably a bit angry when he realized what he'd said, later. He'd surely guess Sam had slipped him that potion--and anyway, could Sam dare do such a thing? His head reeled at the horror of the idea. Sneaking his hand into a magic box of potions given to Frodo by Mr. Gandalf himself? No. He wouldn't do it. It was just exciting to think about, that was all.

Didn't stop him from opening the box, one day when he was dusting in there, and lifting that red bottle out and reading it. (He felt a horrid stab of guilt--Mr. Bilbo had gone to the trouble of teaching him his letters, only so he could use them for a bit of treachery like this?) "One to two drops in a drink," said the bottle. "Effects last two to four hours." Sam put back the bottle, heart hammering, and hurried along with his dusting. One to two drops? That was it? Why, Frodo wouldn't even notice any was missing...

No! Had to stop thinking like that.

Which in turn didn't stop him from what he did the next night.

He walked up to the smial, just after supper, to see if Frodo needed anything that evening. There was his lovely master, admiring a barrel that was sitting on his kitchen table.

"Hullo, Sam!" Frodo greeted. "Look what the Tooks have sent me--some of their new ale!"

Interested, Sam came over and laid a hand on it, and they spent a few minutes discussing the ingredients and the distilling process, based on what Mr. Pippin's father had written in the accompanying letter.

"I insist you stay and have a few mugs with me," Frodo said. "It'll be a fine night. We can take them up to the hill and smoke, and gossip about people in ways we shouldn't."

Maybe it was the _ways we shouldn't_ that gave Sam the courage. Maybe it was the revelation that if Frodo were drunk, he might not remember personal questions at all. The only thing Sam knew for sure was that he was seizing the chance, quite before he knew it. "All right," he heard himself say. "You go on up there with a blanket to spread, and I'll crack this keg open and bring up the drinks." His eye inadvertently slid to the shelf where the box resided.

Something in his voice must have sounded suspicious--it did sure enough in Sam's own ears. Frodo tilted his head, and followed Sam's glance over to the shelf. "Oh...you don't have to..." said Frodo, sounding a little puzzled.

Sam looked there again--luckily the box sat right next to the mugs. "I'll get down the mugs," Sam assured. "You go on and pick us a good spot."

At that Frodo laughed. "Well, it's not as if we'll have crowds of competition. I rather doubt we'll see anyone."

_Even better_, thought Sam, feeling faint from excitement. "You go ahead, then," he said. "I'll be right up."

Frodo shrugged, and pattered off into the hallway. "All right," he called on his way out. "I'll bring some pipeweed as well."

Sam heard him taking things out of cupboards and drawers in another room. He meanwhile managed to tap the barrel and get the ale flowing without spilling it everywhere, despite his shaking limbs. He filled two mugs, then held still and listened. Frodo's steps left the smial, and everything was quiet. Sam braced himself with all the courage he could find, then darted across to the shelf and took down the box.

He opened it and pulled up the red bottle--ah, how promising, how frightening, those handwritten letters looked! "Truth Serum," they said, in sinuous snakelike curls. Could Sam's heart survive the truth?

No time to stand around asking himself questions. If he was going to act, he had to act now. He swallowed, and uncorked the bottle.

The serum smelled faintly of something sweet, yet powerful; intimate and hidden; like the scent of a warm honeycomb, or a lass's skin at the nape of her neck. (Sam had a couple experiences to know that by.) But the bitterness of the ale would cover it up, especially if there were only a couple drops in the mug. Frodo would really never detect it.

Made bold by this idea, Sam picked out a thin glass wand from the inside of the box, and dipped it into the bottle. He drew it out and held it over one of the mugs, and watched as two syrupy drops fell into the ale. He gave the ale a stir with the wand, just to be sure it got mixed in, then wiped off the wand, recorked the bottle, and latched up the box.

He picked up the mugs, careful to note that the one with the potion was in his right hand, and carried them out the door and up around to the top of the hill, on the roof of the smial. Frodo had thrown down a blanket there, under the tree, and was sitting against the trunk smoking his pipe. He smiled when Sam arrived, and held up both hands for the mugs.

"Here, Sam, I'll take those. Could you straighten the blanket in that corner? I've quite crumpled it up in trying to arrange myself here."

Sam obeyed, making note that the serum was going into Frodo's left hand. Then he knelt and smoothed out the blanket, and crawled up to sit beside Frodo. He deftly took the right-hand mug, and clinked it against the other. "Toast to the Tooks, then, sir."

"Cheers," Frodo answered, and took a long swallow. Sam did the same. They sat tasting the ale for a few seconds, then appraised it, agreeing it was good.

They kept sipping, discussing drinks, for a quarter of an hour or so. Sam watched Frodo for any signs of remarkable candidness, but detected nothing. Mr. Frodo was his cheerful self, talking no more nor less than usual, sticking to ordinary topics. But when they finished those mugs, Sam reckoned it had been long enough that the stuff should be taking effect. And feeling more relaxed himself, he decided to try it out with a harmless enough question.

"So when was the first time you ever had far too much to drink?" Sam asked.

Frodo chuckled, tamping pipeweed into his pipe. "You mean enough to make myself sick? Or enough to utterly forget what happened?"

"Either-or."

"Hmm." Frodo leaned back on the trunk and took a puff of smoke into his mouth. "Well, I know I was sick the first time when I was thirteen..."

"That's early," complimented Sam.

"Yes. Wild times at Brandy Hall, I tell you. And not till I was sixteen did I ever drink away the memory of an entire night."

"More wild times at Brandy Hall?"

"What else?"

"Ah." Sam got comfortable against the tree too. That had been easy enough. Now for something bolder. "What about--lasses?"

Frodo blew out a breath of smoke, smiling up at the sky. "Are you asking if I'm a virgin, Samwise?"

Sam shrugged, toes squirming. "I'm just curious."

"All right. I'm not. A virgin, I mean. I bedded a lass when I was twenty-one, and a lad when I was twenty-five."

Sam nearly toppled over. Good gracious, the stuff must have been working. "A lad?" he squeaked.

"Yes." Frodo touched a piece of pipeweed off his tongue. "Does that shock you?"

"No--no. I've heard tell of such things."

The glance Frodo sent him was sly and leisurely; Sam could see that much even in the starlight. "But haven't done them yourself?" Frodo asked.

"No," Sam admitted, squeezing the empty mug between his knees. "Just...thought about it, like." Well, it was only fair for him to be a little honest too, he supposed.

"Oh, yes." Frodo looked at the sky again, and laughed, running the pipe-stem along his lower lip. "We all think about it, don't we."

"Do you suppose...everyone really does?" Sam ventured.

"Think about pleasure? Or about other lads?"

"Either-or," Sam echoed.

"Well, I don't really know about everyone. I doubt other lads are to everyone's tastes. But as to pleasure..." Frodo set aside his mug, and stretched out his legs to cross one ankle over the other, wriggling his shoulders against the tree. "I'd say, Samwise, if you came across someone who claimed never to pleasure himself, you could be assured he was lying."

Sam's heartbeat was fierce throughout his body. "Then you're saying you..."

"I do it; even I, yes." Frodo glanced at him; Sam saw a glimmer of white teeth in a smile. "As do you, I imagine."

"Oh, aye." Sam ducked his head. "Sure. Reckon everyone does, like you say."

"The first time I did _that_," Frodo volunteered, "I was thirteen." He paused, considered, and gave a laugh. "Eventful year for me, wasn't it?"

Loving the truth serum madly, Sam answered with a breathy laugh of his own. "Sounds like it. So how'd you...figure it out, like?"

"Well..." Frodo drew the pipe-stem in and out of his lips. "It took me quite some time, since I'd never been told about it. In fact, for the longest time I thought there was something wrong with me, some sort of illness--when I would get hard, you know, and would get that certain itch, that wasn't quite an itch."

A shot of heat pulsed between Sam's legs. Yes, he knew that "itch." "I would rub myself," Frodo continued, "thinking to make it go away, but of course it didn't. It only made me harder. I would tell myself it must be like midge-bites--where you really should stop scratching at it or you'll only make it worse--so I would stop, and eventually, _eventually_, the hardness would go away." He laughed.

"Sounds like torture," Sam said.

"Well, it wasn't so bad when I was young. But it got more and more maddening as I grew up. Until that night when I was thirteen, and I was sitting in the privy--romantic setting, don't you think?--and rubbing and rubbing just because I couldn't stop, and then something happened, and there was this stuff coming out of me and getting on my hands and legs. Oh, goodness, I was sure I had a terrible illness, then."

They both laughed again, though Sam was getting quite keyed up with desire. "Didn't have no one to tell you otherwise?" he asked.

"As if I'd consult anyone. No, I simply panicked and swore I'd never do it again. That is, until three days later, when I couldn't help myself." Frodo formed a delectable O with his lips and exhaled a stream of smoke. "I decided, if I had an illness, it was an illness I was willing to live with. Within a month it was my favorite thing to do, even though I was sure it was hastening my demise. It just felt so _good_." There was a sweet ache in his voice on the last word.

Sam salivated. "Then," he gulped, "when did you figure out other folk did it?"

"Oh, not long after. A few more months. Some of the older lads were talking about it, while I was eavesdropping, and it all fell together in my mind. I felt like quite a fool then, for ever having worried. And of course I started doing it even more, once I knew it was normal."

_Do it more, do it all you like, just tell me about it, tell me tell me tell me._ Sam shifted to make room in his trousers for his erection, thinking he may as well get up and rush home, and spend the next year doing it to himself, since he had some good tantalizing knowledge to work with now. But since the serum was still running strong, he reckoned he'd stay a bit longer and see what else he could dig up.

Before he could ask another question, though, Frodo looked at him and said, "What about you?"

"Me?"

"How old were you? How did you work it out?"

"Oh..." Sam's face felt hot. "I was, um...eight, I think."

"Eight!"

"Well, nothing would happen, of course--that is, nothing would come out--but it still _ended_, you see. It still felt good."

"Why, you wicked child," laughed Frodo. "And how did you learn to do that?"

"Don't know," Sam said truthfully. "Just always knew it felt good to touch there, and kept doing it."

Frodo re-lit his pipe, the match flaring bright against his face. His eyelashes were thick and downcast, his lips full and luscious. Sam had to look away. Then Frodo offered him the light, and Sam took it, realizing he had forgotten about his own pipe. He nearly burned his fingers before clumsily managing to get the pipeweed lit. He shook the match to extinguish it, and the safe darkness fell again. The smell of pipe smoke curled round them. "Then," Frodo said, "did it frighten you, the first time you truly...came?"

"No," Sam answered. "Surprised me a bit, but I'd heard tell it was supposed to happen."

"Smarter than I."

"Hardly that," Sam demurred.

"I remember one time," Frodo began, "when I was--oh, I don't know, eighteen-ish; I was here in Bag End so I must have been at least that old--I was trying to fall asleep but was too aroused. I didn't want to waste time touching myself; I really was tired and thought I ought to just rest. But I felt quite ticklish."

_Ticklish,_ Sam thought as his groin tingled and throbbed. _Good word for it._

"I'd heard," Frodo went on, "that taking a cold bath was supposed to make it go away. Well, that would have been just as time-consuming, and a nuisance anyway in the middle of the night. But it was winter, and we'd had an ice storm that day, and there were icicles hanging from the branches outside my window--large ones, some of them. So I got up and opened the window, and broke one of them off, and took it into bed with me. Sitting on my knees I pulled up my nightshirt, and carefully touched my cock with that icicle."

Sam instinctively twitched and sucked in a breath, in sympathy as well as intense arousal. "Gracious."

"No." Frodo laughed, low and warm. "It wasn't bad. Not at all. It felt wonderful in fact. It did quite the opposite of what I intended."

"You mean it feels _good_ to touch yourself with ice?"

"It did for me, at least. I was...transported. I think I moaned aloud. I know I gave up the idea of trying to go to sleep without it, and devoted my evening to self-pleasure." Frodo sighed in reminiscence. "All that melted ice quite soaked my bed-sheets."

"Gracious," Sam whispered again, though with different meaning this time.

"I still remember," Frodo mused, "the way it felt on my skin when I came. The hot sticky liquid mingling with the ice-cold water."

"Oh mercy," Sam breathed.

"Unfortunately it's summer now," Frodo added. "If you're thinking to try it, you'll have to wait." Then he turned the tables again: "And have you discovered any interesting methods?"

"Oh...um...no, I don't think my ways are anything unusual. I just...use my hand."

"Do you like to squeeze your...'berries'? Assuming we're talking about a twig and berries here, you understand."

Sam surprised himself with a laugh. "Yes. I suppose I do like that."

"I've always liked that," Frodo said conversationally, recrossing his ankles. "Especially to feel the way they swell, just toward the end."

"Oh dearie me," Sam exhaled around the stem of his pipe, hoping the words weren't audible. This was all working a little _too_ well. How long had it been now, anyway? What if it wore off sooner than he expected? Or, as seemed likelier at the moment, what if Frodo went on sharing truths until Sam reached the bursting point and came in his trousers without being touched at all?

"This is a very frank conversation, isn't it?" commented Frodo.

"That it is, sir."

"I don't think I've quite had a chat like this with anyone before."

"Me neither."

"Except for people I've bedded, of course."

"Well...I ain't never quite done that. And with folk I only kissed, I never talked this way."

"No one's even brought you off? Fondled you?" Frodo sounded sympathetic.

"Umm, well...yes, one has, in a way...but she didn't quite know it, like."

"How does that work?"

"We were kissing and fooling around, this lass and I, and she was lying on top of me and rubbing against me through our clothes, and I..."

"You came," purred Frodo.

"Aye. And I didn't tell her, and tried not to let it show."

"Did she come too?"

"I don't know," Sam said, thinking back on it. "She didn't say. I was too worried about myself to notice."

"Hm. First times can be like that."

Sam swallowed, and looked over at Frodo's beautiful profile in the faint light. "What was yours like? With the lad?"

"It was...like playing with myself, only with another person. Really, it was something of a strange mirror effect. When it's another lad you're quite able to assume, 'This feels good on me, therefore I daresay it will on him'--which, as we know, is not entirely the case with the mysterious lasses."

"Aye, that's true. Then...what did the two of you do? Was it just one time?"

"Oh, it was a full season. A very frantic autumn. And we did everything we could think of, just about." Frodo pulled up one knee, and tilted it aside, swaying it idly in the mild air. "Do you know, when someone takes your cock into their mouth, and gets it warm and wet, and then draws it out and blows upon it, it feels almost like ice touching you?"

Sam's heart was hammering. He felt fluid seeping into the stretched-tight fabric of his underlinens, and when he shifted again, a hot drop trickled halfway down his shaft. *Oh lord, oh lord, oh lord...*

Beside him, Frodo stretched his arms up, planted both feet on the blanket, and stood. He ambled onto the grass, looked out at the moonlit landscape, then knelt to tap his pipe upside-down on the ground, emptying it and scuffing out the ashes with one foot. Sam's heart sank. It appeared the conversation was over. Any minute now Frodo would turn and say briskly, "Well! It's been interesting, lad, but I'm exhausted. See you in the morning." At least then Sam could go home and take care of his desires...

Thus he was considerably shocked when Frodo walked over to him, stepped across him so he had a foot on either side of Sam's lap, and dropped down to straddle Sam, facing him. "I do believe we're alone," Frodo said in silky tones, confiscating Sam's pipe and setting it out of the way. His hands returned to spread across Sam's chest.

"Sir?" Sam's voice trembled. "What are you doing?"

"You want to 'fool about', don't you?" Frodo's thumbs found Sam's nipples, through his shirt, and massaged them. "Why else would you ask me all those questions?"

"I...yes...I do," gulped Sam, unable to stop himself. "But I didn't know you'd want me...I was only asking so I could think about you..."

Frodo's nose touched Sam's. His lips, rich with pipeweed, dabbed a damp kiss onto Sam's mouth. "You like to think about me? How sweet. But of course I want you." He spread his knees farther, bringing his groin down onto Sam's. "Can you feel that?"

Sam felt it indeed: a long, hard lump, shifting and bumping against his own. He closed his eyes and moaned. He wound his fingers into the fabric at Frodo's waist. "Yes...oh, yes, sir..."

"Let me tell you one more story," Frodo whispered in his ear, rotating his hips slowly against Sam. "Do you remember last week, the morning I slept late, and you came into my room to open the curtains?"

"Yes..." Oh, Sam knew he shouldn't take advantage of Frodo's serum-induced mood like this, but he wanted it so much...

"I wasn't asleep. I'd been awake for a while. I was fondling myself under the blankets."

"Oh glory," Sam whimpered. Shouldn't be doing this...

"I still had my hand down there, while you were in the room. Squeezing...slow...so you wouldn't notice..."

Shouldn't...shouldn't...oh, forget that. Sam clutched Frodo around the ribs and fixed his mouth to Frodo's neck, kissing and suckling.

"Mm..." Frodo purred. "And I almost...asked you to step up to the bed... Do you know what I would have done?"

"Tell me," Sam gasped.

"I would have taken your hand, and drawn it under the covers, and made you stroke me..." Frodo guided one of Sam's hands along the smooth weave of his trousers to the front, where he pressed it hard to his erection. "...like that."

As Sam swallowed against the wave of lust in his throat, his fingers closed there, and explored--oh, Frodo was so stiff, so large...

Frodo arched up on his knees, letting his head fall back in the starlight, holding Sam's hand between his legs, helping it rub. He sighed in ecstasy. "Ah...you would have done a fine job..."

"I'll do it now. Please let me do it now."

Frodo began languidly unbuttoning his breeches. "I would hardly let you get away without it. You'd be a terrible tease, getting me talking about it, getting me hard, and then not helping me take care of it." He rocked back onto his feet and stood, just long enough to drop his trousers and linens to the ground. Then he stepped out of them and straddled Sam again, bringing Sam's hand back to the dark place where now it met with humid skin and curly hairs. Frodo laid his face on Sam's neck and groaned in his throat at the touch.

"Oh yes," Sam said. "I'll help you take care of it..." Frodo _was_ big, he found, grasping the girth of him and pulling, as Frodo with spread thighs pushed into his fist.

"Will you let me suck on you?" said Frodo, his breath a hot rush at Sam's ear.

"Yes...oh, mercy, I'm so hard..."

"Can I take your trousers off you? Right now?"

"Yes..."

Frodo edged out of Sam's hand to make room for his own, then unfastened Sam's breeches and hauled them down his legs in one tug. Sam's privates reveled in the freedom, stretching and swelling in the night air as they'd been trying to do in the cramped quarters of his clothes. Then Frodo's lips were on him, his tongue sliding up him, his nose-tip investigating him from top to base. Sam cried out and jolted his hips upward. Frodo settled him with both hands, and licked speculatively again. Then he chuckled, deep in his throat, and wrapped a hand around Sam, fingers feeling about. "A bit worked up, are we, lad?"

"Yes," Sam gasped, for about the tenth time.

"You're fairly dripping." Frodo's broad tongue lapped over the head and down one side. Sam whimpered. "Not that I should talk."

"I'll do you first," Sam promised, though twisting and bucking under Frodo's teasing face. "Let me touch you and finish you."

"You think you're being polite," Frodo chided. He cupped Sam's loose sac ("berries," indeed!), and licked those too. "But it would much more pleasurable for me to watch _you_ come, while I'm still hard as a rock."

"Oh, then do it," breathed Sam, ever amenable. "I'll burst soon if you don't...please..."

"Mm...you're delicious." His tongue teased Sam at the very tip, dancing at the edge of foreskin. "Does that feel good, Sam?"

Sam drove both fists into the blanket, his teeth catching his lip. "Uhhh yes...yes, yes yes..."

"Running out of words, are we?" Frodo enveloped the length of Sam with lush, wet kisses, then blew a light breeze on him from rounded lips.

Sam sucked in a jagged breath, and released it in a rush of disconnected words: "Oh...cold...yes...oh that's good...so cold...umm..."

"You make me so hard it hurts," Frodo murmured. Another wide lick; another icy breeze.

"I'm going to come...please...so close..."

"You can come in my mouth. I want you to," Frodo whispered, squeezing the sac tight. "And I want you to scream when you do--cry out, Sam, come for me--" His words were buried as he took Sam into his mouth--his slick, hot, rapid mouth--

Sam's shout as he came was loud indeed, loud enough to be heard down at Bagshot Row if anyone was out in their garden this late at night. Sam didn't care. He rocked and lifted into Frodo's arms and mouth in a great long burst of bliss until settling on the crumpled blanket, sated.

Somehow he was on his back now. All those contortions had brought him down. He could see the stars at the edge of the branches overhead. "Oh thank you," he exhaled.

Frodo was still a tense, throbbing creature, however. He scuttled up Sam's body, skimming his erection against Sam's wet flesh on the way, making predatory growls. "You're welcome," he said, straddling Sam across the ribs, ripping open Sam's shirt and shoving it aside on both sides. "Now. Touch me."

Sam did, gladly, stroking and squeezing with as much strength as he had left.

Frodo pumped himself forward in rhythm with Sam's tugs, panting and talking under his breath: "Ah...I've thought about you when I've come--so many times, Sam...I love to think about you...mmm...oh, I want to come on your chest--oh, I'm going to--ah!" His head jerked back, a silhouette against the stars, and he gave a sharp moan with every spasm. Heat dripped and pooled over Sam's heart and up to his collarbone, and slipped between his fingers, and kept welling out till Frodo relaxed limp like an unstrung puppet, and slid down to lie on his back beside Sam. Unlike Sam, he didn't attempt any verbal expressions of gratitude; he merely sighed long and luxuriously, which sounded like heaven enough to Sam's wonderstruck ears.

They caught their breath, saying nothing. Frodo found Sam's hand and entwined own fingers into it, and they lay still. After a minute or two, Sam shifted, murmured, "Think I'll fetch a handkerchief," and wriggled down to pluck it from the pocket of his trousers.

He dabbed off his chest, neck, and hands, and offered it to Frodo, who said "Thank you" in reasonable tones and wiped his own fingers clean.

Frodo returned it to Sam, and tucked an arm behind his head, watching the sky, still wearing no pants. Sam lay down again beside him, figuring he'd wait on getting dressed another minute or so as well. So erotic, lying there exposed next to Mr. Frodo...he felt a renewed surge of heat, and smiled.

"So, dear Sam," Frodo said, "the truth serum seems to work well, doesn't it?"

"Aye, it--" Sam sat up with a shock. "What?"

"You did use truth serum?"

"I did--but--that is--oh, I didn't think you'd know!" Sam covered his face.

"Please calm down, my dear. Obviously it worked out well for us both. I'm not angry."

"You knew? Oh, save me..."

"I wasn't sure till just now. I suspected; that's all. The way you asked about it when I first got it, then the way you wanted to take care of the drinks tonight without my being there--really, it was rather obvious you were up to something."

Sam turned to him and entreated, "I'm sorry, sir, I'm so awfully sorry!"

Frodo sat up too, and draped an arm around him, dropping a kiss on his temple. "It's all right. In fact, it's quite marvelous."

"I didn't want you to know..."

"Well, the truth is all out now, isn't it?" Frodo chuckled, and smoothed Sam's hair, looking out at the hills in the starlight. "And I'd say your motives were most delectable. But do tell me, Samwise: did you put the serum in both drinks, or only in mine?"

Sam crushed his fingers together in his lap. "Only in yours," he mumbled.

"Yes. That makes sense. Then, I'm curious: how does it feel?"

"I feel a fool...I mean, I'm so glad you like me after all, but I didn't like to trick you..."

"No, I mean how does it feel when you drink it? Does it feel like being intoxicated, or what exactly?"

Sam was confused, and blinked at him. "Sir?"

"Well, Sam," Frodo pointed out, "since I suspected you were trying to drug me, I did take the trouble to switch the mugs, you know. Just to find out what you were up to."

Sam stared; his jaw dropped. "Switched them?"

"While you were adjusting the blanket for me. Oldest trick in the book, I'm afraid." Frodo patted Sam's back, as if to console him for falling for it.

"Oh, good gracious," said the exasperated Sam, and hid his face again.

"Ah. I take it you didn't notice any symptoms, then. That's good. Should I ever need to use it to flush out an actual enemy, I shall be glad to know that."

"Then--now wait a moment." Sam lifted his head and peered at Frodo. "You said all those things just of your own free will?"

"Oh, yes. Once I found out that all you wanted to do was seduce me, I was quite willing to share. Found it wonderfully exciting, as a matter of fact. Which I suppose was evident by my behavior."

"Then..._I_ was answering honestly all this time?"

"Well, I presume you were. Yes. Weren't you?"

Sam thought back on it, and lifted his eyebrows. "I suppose I was."

"Really I'm not sure either of us needed a truth serum. We both seemed quite amenable to pouring out our hearts--among other things--once given the excuse."

"Aye." Sam wriggled an arm under Frodo's, caught him around the waist, and pulled him closer. He rested his cheek on Frodo's neck, and kissed his earlobe. "Long time now, I've been afraid I'd slip up and tell you."

"If you'd waited much longer," Frodo confessed, his free hand sliding over Sam's bare thigh, "I would have tried using the stuff on _you_."

Sam laughed, and lifted his head. He found himself with a mouthful of Frodo's lips and tongue, and let himself be toppled back onto the blanket to enjoy it for the next several minutes. Soon they were rubbing together again, taking advantage of being half-dressed.

"You know," Frodo breathed, "there are still some interesting things I haven't told you."

"I might be able to come up with a story or two myself," said Sam.

Frodo hooked his leg over Sam and pressed against him. "Then let's talk." 


End file.
